


Anticipating Harry

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Clothing Kink, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Implied Switching, Joggers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Draco has two issues with jogging bottoms. First, they’re ugly as sin. They’re grey, shapeless and unwelcome at a party which cost him quite a lot of money, thank you very much. Second, Harry Potter looks so fuckinggoodin the wretched things, it’s making Draco lose his damn mind.





	Anticipating Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inaugural HD Cocks and Joggers fest because I couldn't resist. Thanks to [@unadulteratedstorycollector](http://unadulteratedstorycollector.tumblr.com/) for running the fest, beta reading this fic and to the Drarry Discord for the excellent cock and jogger related inspiration. This was fun! :D

Draco has two issues with jogging bottoms. First, they’re ugly as sin. They’re grey, shapeless and unwelcome at a party which cost him quite a lot of money, thank you very much. Second, Harry Potter looks so fucking _good_ in the wretched things, it’s making Draco lose his damn mind.

“I came straight from work.” Harry grins at Draco, messy and flushed. “Busy night. You don’t mind, do you?” Harry waves his hand up and down his body, drawing Draco’s attention to inconveniently toned thighs, a chest Draco wants to stroke until he has Harry purring and a tantalising bulge in those infuriating trousers which leave little to the imagination. 

“Black tie, Potter.” Draco steps aside nevertheless and tugs at his fussy necktie. It’s a bit tighter than it was earlier in the evening when Harry wasn’t smirking at Draco and sporting terrible Muggle sportswear. “I specifically stated on the invite-”

“ _Black tie only. That includes you, Potter_.” Harry grins. “I appreciated the personal touch.”

Draco huffs. “You appreciated it so much, you chose to ignore it?”

“I can’t be inconspicuous in black tie, can I?” Harry looks at his feet. He’s wearing trainers. Horrible, canvas things which look like they should have been thrown out years ago.

“No.” Draco rolls his eyes and closes the front door. “It’s fine. Just…try not to break anything.”

“Why the bloody hell would I _break_ anything?” Harry laughs and Draco swallows. He was thinking about his cut-glass tumblers not about matters of the heart, but with Harry looking delicious enough to eat, Draco’s not sure it’s the broken glass he should be worrying about.

“Because you’re clumsy as fuck and terrible party guest.” Draco follows Harry into the main hall. Christ, his backside is something else. The trousers are loose in all the right places and tight in others. It’s distracting, to say the least. “That’s not official Auror garb.”

“Nope.” Potter grabs a glass of champagne and takes a swig. “Like I said, I’m working undercover.”

“Doing what?” Draco takes the opportunity to give Harry another up and down. He tries not to linger on the crotch area, but it’s damned difficult.

“This and that.” Potter has the nerve to wink and he clinks his glass against Draco’s. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in Muggle gyms.” As if to prove it, he flexes his arm which is tanned and on display in a t-shirt which is far too tight. Harry’s never going to be a muscle-bound gym bunny, but he looks good. Draco doesn’t like too many muscles, anyway. He likes wizards who can stand at eye-level with him. Wizards with green eyes, atrocious hair and terrible fucking trousers, apparently. Wizard. Singular. Draco glares at Harry. He’s ruining Draco’s life and he seems quite happy about it, smiling around his champagne and adjusting his trousers just enough to draw attention back to his delectable looking cock.

“Did you forget the Floo? Apparition? The party was going just fine without you, I’m sure we could have waited another ten minutes.” Draco tears his eyes from the mouth-watering bulge and the outline of Harry’s slim thighs, to meet Harry’s gaze. He looks amused. His tongue slides over his lips, leaving them damp. He pushes a hand through his hair before nudging his glasses higher on his nose.

“Then I’d have missed out on the canapés.” As if on cue a house-elf offers Potter a sausage on a stick. It looks as though it’s covered with a sticky glaze and wholegrain mustard. Draco didn’t put sausages on sticks on the menu, mainly because he has excellent taste and the party isn’t a _sausage on a stick_ sort of affair. “You very clearly said-” Harry clears his throat before putting on a posh accent that doesn’t sound a bit like Draco. “-You said _if you’re late, Potter, I’ll make sure Weasley eats all the canapés and we’ll drink all the good champagne. You’ll be left with the goats cheese tarts and an old bottle of mother’s sherry._.” Harry takes a miniature Yorkshire pudding with roast beef in it. Where the fuck did they come from? The house-elf disappears before Draco can ask any questions and Harry eats his food with a contented look on his face. “I hate goats cheese. It tastes like socks.” 

“Heathen.” Draco gestures to the rest of the party. “Go on, then. Get your food and champagne, if you must.”

Despite the obvious invitation to move away, Harry sticks close to Draco. “The sausages are good and the beef’s delicious. How did you know they’re my favourites?”

Draco grits his teeth. He’s going to _kill_ his house-elves. Between this and their morning chorus of _Dobby The Free Elf_ which contains multiple verses about handsome Harry and his bloody eyes, Potter’s lucky Draco doesn’t grab him by the waistband of his heinous trousers and throw him out on his arse. In the rain. The pleasant image of Potter getting rained on calms Draco somewhat until Image-Harry tips his head back, his throat working under the fat droplets of rain. He runs a hand through his hair and those infernal trousers start _clinging_ with the outline of Potter’s cock so clearly visible-

“Malfoy?” 

“Nothing.” Draco shakes himself and turns to Harry, who gives him a curious look. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

“Okay.” The corner of Harry’s lips twitch and he eats another miniature sausage, letting out a sinful groan. “These are bloody brilliant.”

“I need champagne,” Draco mutters.

He gets as far away from Harry as possible and it’s at least three glasses of champagne before he even starts to feel right again.

*

“I thought about doing a spell.”

Draco’s on his way to pick Smitherton’s brain about the sudden spike in Wolfric’s Wizard Wheels shares, when Harry appears directly in his path. He’s mercifully not groaning over sausages, but he still looks delightfully rumpled. 

“What kind of spell?” Draco tries to make it sound like he doesn’t care. 

“To change the trousers.” Harry fiddles with the ties at the waistband which does something peculiar to Draco’s insides. “I’m not brilliant at those tailoring charms, though. I’d probably end up in something with feathers.”

Draco gives Harry a look. “I can’t believe Harry Potter is thrown by a couple of simple tailoring charms.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t have much use for them.”

“I beg to differ.” Draco adjusts his necktie. Christ, why is it so hot again? 

“Having a good party?” Harry sounds genuinely interested, which makes Draco suspicious. They might have become friendly acquaintances over the years, but it’s not like them to talk about the weather. It’s usually insults and fights interspersed with the odd flash of remembering that one night in their late teens when they got caught up in a game of spin the bottle.

_It landed on Harry! Draco, it’s landed on Harry!_

_Potter’s lips, slow and firm. Hands warm and soft sliding into Draco’s hair. The crisp cotton of Harry’s shirt beneath his fingers and the pulse jumping underneath Draco’s cool lips._

_The hot skin of Potter’s neck. The low rumble from Potter’s throat when the kiss deepens. The way he shudders and bucks in Draco’s arms when his neck gets kissed just right, people watching be damned._

One blissful kiss, never mentioned again. Just enough of a taste to make Draco’s heart thump and skip relentlessly when Potter stands too close or presses his warm fingers on Draco’s arm. Draco’s never been much of an exhibitionist. He gets enough of people staring at his distinctive features and notices the ways their eyes drop to his arm as if they want to catch a glimpse of all of the things Draco regrets. When he replays that moment in his head, though, Draco doesn’t care who’s watching. He thinks about pushing Harry onto the floor. Fantasizes about tasting more than just his lips – kissing more than just his neck - and feeling the ragged pulse of Harry's heart beneath his tongue. It’s a wonder he hasn’t gone half mad with wanting Harry Potter.

Draco thinks about telling Harry now, how often he remembers. Pushing Harry back into the shadows and saying _I remember how your lips tasted like vodka-cranberry. How your breath felt against my skin. How much I wanted to touch you and how I’ve never really stopped wanting to touch you._

 _Do you remember too?_.

Instead, Draco swallows and answers the question he’s been asked. “The party is…passable.” Draco wrinkles his nose and looks around. People are chatting and seem to be having a good time but there’s something about the night that’s been making him itchy and restless from the start. It’s like every event he attends these days becomes defined by Harry. Anticipating Harry, then watching him like a starving man as he works a room and fills every inch of space just by being _Harry Potter_.

“You seem distracted.” Harry’s terribly close, his breath warm and tart like the champagne. “What’s on your mind?”

“Shares. The Muggle-Wizarding currency exchange rate. Work. The usual.” The lies roll easily off Draco’s tongue. It might be a bit much to reveal a lot of his time lately involves thinking how the heavy weight of Harry’s cock might feel in his hand and to point out those blasted trousers aren’t helping anything.

“I don’t really like parties.” Harry moves back a little, resting against the wall and looking away from Draco. “Not my thing.”

“Why do you bother coming, then?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs. He turns to face Draco, his cheeks pink. “Sometimes there are party games. I like those.”

Draco’s heart thuds in his chest and his breath catches. He swallows around the lump in his throat and keeps his gaze intent on Harry. “Play a lot of games, do you?”

“Not really.” Harry’s voice is low and it wavers at the edges. “Just the one. Just the once.”

“Oh.” Draco moves closer until his body almost touches Harry’s. They’re in the middle of a shadowy corridor and he’s got Harry Potter nearly pinned to the wall. He hopes to Merlin Weasley doesn’t find them. The last thing Draco needs is a spell in Azkaban or a broken nose for trying to seduce the hero of the wizarding world. “This isn’t the kind of party where teenagers get drunk and play spin the bottle.”

Harry tips his chin and his eyes flash. It looks like a challenge. “Pity.” 

Draco puts his hand on Harry’s cheek and leans in. This is different. Draco’s in control, even though he’s not in control at all. It’s his hand that cups Harry’s face. His hand that slides into Harry’s hair. It's Harry's breath that trembles and it's his lips that first whisper Draco's name like it means something. This time Draco knows how to kiss, and the rest. It seems Harry does too and it makes Draco furious because he wanted to be the person to show Harry. To take him apart piece by piece and to put him together again with his fingers and a deep, hard fucking. To wake him up in the morning with lazy kisses and blow jobs. The kiss deepens and they push and pull, gasp and grasp. Draco’s hands tug at Harry’s slim cotton t-shirt and Harry pushes his fingers underneath Draco’s tuxedo jacket as if he wants to press closer to Draco’s skin. Draco pulls Harry deeper into the shadows and murmurs a desperate _please_ against Harry’s lips, kissing him again and again until they’re so wrapped up in one another the music from the party and the background chatter fades away to nothing. It’s just Harry, Draco and the dull roar in Draco’s brain. The touches that make his body flame with desire and the kisses that leave him breathless and aching.

“Come on.” Harry pushes Draco back and his eyes look dark behind his glasses. “Come _on_ , Malfoy.” With a tug of Draco’s hand, he walks them through the house. Draco supposes it’s really not the time for asking how the fuck Harry Potter knows his way around the place.

“I’m hosting a party.”

“Really?” Harry turns, his eyebrows raised. “Is that what you’re thinking about?”

“No.” Draco stops Harry in his tracks, pushing him back against the nearest wall and grinding against him. He slides his hand into Harry’s hair and tips his head back, pressing his lips against Harry’s ear. He might have only kissed Harry once before tonight but he knows Harry’s neck is sensitive. He knows because of the way Harry shuddered and shook in his arms and he’s thought long and hard about making Harry come undone since that one kiss so long ago. “What I’m thinking about is pushing my hand inside those _fucking_ trousers of yours and making you come over my fist. Then I’m going to take you to my room and spread you open and lick you and finger you before I fuck you. I’m going to make sure my name is the only thing you’re going to be able to remember and you’re going to spend tomorrow thinking about me. Wanting me. _Remembering_ me.”

“ _Fuck_ , yes.” Harry groans into Draco’s mouth and he grips Draco’s hand, pushing it over the very pleasing bulge in his trousers. “Do it. Gods, just do it.”

“You’re so easy for me, Potter.” Draco hopes it’s true and gives Harry’s hair another tug. He slides his hand into the waistband of Harry’s joggers. He’s starting to really, really like these trousers. To really like this whole night, actually. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“A-- _Christ_ \--a lot, alright?” It’s not the most eloquent plea ever but Harry huffs with laughter and moans as he presses into Draco’s hand. “Are you going to be an arse about it tomorrow?”

“Probably.” Draco slides his fingers over Harry’s cock. No underwear. Harry Potter turned up to Draco’s party without any fucking underwear. It’s enough to make Draco nearly come in his pants. He bites down on his bottom lip and squeezes his fingers around Harry. “Definitely. Did you plan this?”

“Maybe.” Harry’s breathless and his skin is hot and flushed, his lips damp against Draco’s neck as he pushes into Draco’s fist. “Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.” Draco slides his hand over Harry and _gods_ it’s nearly too much. He likes to fuck as much as the next person but he also likes to _be_ fucked. The thought of Potter’s wide, long prick pushing into his body makes Draco shiver. He wants to taste every inch of Harry’s skin. He wants to wrap his lips around him and suck him down while Harry twists his hands in Draco’s hair and takes what he wants. He wants Harry stretched out on his bed and to take his time doing every last, filthy thing that occupies his fantasies. He’s got a feeling Harry might like some of his ideas. A very _good_ feeling.

“Malfoy…” Harry’s voice is rough-edged and breathless. He’s clutching onto Draco like he’s some kind of lifeline and his words are hot against Draco’s neck. “As if…as if I could forget you. I remember all of it. _Everything._ ”

“Me too.” Draco swallows thickly and he pushes against Harry. His whole body is wired to respond to every gasp and shiver from Harry. He yanks off Harry’s glasses and kisses him as hard as he’s always wanted, their mouths searching and the kiss all teeth, tongue and low groans of pleasure. He strokes Harry through his climax taking his time to tease Harry with slow strokes before bringing him off quickly with rapid movements and a twist of his wrist which leaves Harry pulsing and boneless, sagging back against the wall. The damp patch in the front of his light grey joggers is obvious and part of Draco wants to drag Harry downstairs so everyone knows. So everyone knows that Harry’s not available for roving eyes, simpering wizards and witches batting their lashes at him. The other part of him wants to keep Harry shuttered away so he doesn’t have to hear the things people whisper about Draco or get those voices in his ear that tell him all the things Draco used to believe about himself.

“Bloody hell.” Harry takes his glasses back and puts them on his nose, blinking at Draco. His cheeks are red and a small smile plays at the edges of his lips. “I can’t go back down like this.”

“Don’t, then.” Draco draws a breath. “I’ll tell them party’s over. Boot them out and come and fuck you into my mattress.”

“You can’t go down like that either.” Harry tugs Draco close, the heel of his palm rubbing the bulge at the front of Draco’s trousers. “Not before I’ve sucked you off. Tell one of the house-elves you’ve taken a funny turn.”

“Subtle.” Draco rolls his eyes and bites back a groan at the maddening pressure of Harry’s hand on his aching prick. He can hardly think straight, his mind flooding with images of Potter on his knees and the thought of the warm, wet heat of Harry’s mouth on him. “No one’s going to gossip about us disappearing together in the slightest.”

“Let them gossip.” There he is again. The Harry that Draco always think of as the boy who belongs to the rest of the world. The Ministry man. The Auror who takes himself off on undercover investigations and the one who speaks to the press in calm, controlled tones. 

That’s the person Harry shows to everyone else. Draco likes that Harry, but not half as much as he likes the wizard who comes to the sort of black tie party he loathes, dressed in jogging bottoms because he couldn’t give a flying fuck. The boy who comes to a party because maybe he might find himself kissing someone he kissed once before, all that time ago when his lips tasted like cranberry juice and his kisses tasted like hope.

He’s such a mass of contradictions, so comfortable in his own skin and so used to celebrity but so uncomfortable being in the limelight. Draco likes that he can make Harry let go. Likes that he can kiss him and make him forget the rest of the world might be watching – even just for a moment. He likes how Harry makes even the shadowy corners of the Manor feel bright.

“Don’t you care?” Draco holds his breath.

“Nope.” Harry shrugs. He pushes himself off the wall and adjusts his jogging bottoms. He really does look thoroughly shagged out and it suits him. “Let them talk as much as they want. It’s not going to stop me coming back here.” Harry slips his hand into Draco’s, his voice low. “It’s not the sort of party where people get off in the shadows because they’ve drunk too much champagne.”

“Seems like it’s exactly that sort of party,” Draco says.

“I’m not a teenager anymore.” Harry takes a breath. He tips his head to the side and he’s so handsome it takes Draco’s breath away. “Aren’t you ready for more?”

Draco hesitates, his heart pounding in his chest. After a beat too long, he nods. He nods because he can’t trust himself to speak, in case he tells Harry he’s spent what feels like a lifetime hoping for _more_ and battling the feeling inside that hope is something a Malfoy doesn’t deserve.

“I’m ready.”

Harry visibly relaxes, his breath leaving him in a huff. “Show me your room, then? I need a shower and want to change out of these trousers.”

“Into what?” Draco can’t help but smile.

“Nothing. Feathers. Who the fuck knows?” Harry grins and gives Draco a wink. “Tell everyone to fuck off then come upstairs and find out. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Draco practically shoves Harry into his room and manages to empty the Manor in record time.

Skeeter posts a shitty article about the party the next day, focusing on _Draco Malfoy’s strange behaviour_.

Draco laughs about it with Harry over toast and marmalade, before sucking him off in the kitchen.

The jogging bottoms stay on the floor of the bedroom for the rest of the weekend.

_~Fin~_


End file.
